Shelly Reuben 's Recent Stories


Mystic, Merry Toyland

My father and I are the only members of our family unencumbered by university diplomas. Uncle Jack and Uncle ..


Magical binoculars

The first picture I ever saw of a naked woman wasn’t in National Geographic Magazine; it was on a calendar ..


Apple blossoms and chickadees

Every letter that my father wrote … every unspoken remark before and after every raised eyebrow … every comment that ..


How Horatius Kept the Bridge

“Samuel Reuben, Jr., your father.” That’s how he signed many of the letters he wrote until my grandfather died. When ..


Michael is experimenting with his photography

My father had a favorite phrase from the Bible: THE STONE THAT WAS REJECTED BECAME THE CHIEF CORNERSTONE. ..


Never mind this stationery

The thick, black, inky strokes of a man who used a fountain pen long after the inventors of ballpoints assumed ..


A far away country

Samuel Reuben. A solid series of consonants and vowels composing a solid-sounding name that looked strong and reliable on ..


The Art Institute

When I was growing up, the Art Institute of Chicago had a real, honest-to-goodness treasure chest behind the central staircase ..


Do you know where Daddy is?

As I write this, it is 11:00 o’clock at night and my eighty-year old Uncle Jack is in town on ..


Gurgling with delight

Every letter that my father wrote…all…all had about them an empurpled intensity … a flair … an escalation of objects ..


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